Draco In Azkaban
by KnockturnSeller
Summary: Fear upon fear, misery on misery, folded, pressed, stacked, more fear and misery weighed down upon him. Draco in Azkaban.


Fear upon fear, misery on misery, folded, pressed, stacked, more fear and misery weighed down upon him. Draco in Azkaban.

Head cannon goes off. Fluttering sign dropping out of the smoke says, "I Don't Own Harry Potter But I Do Play In The Forbidden Forest."

Draco in Azkaban

"Draco Malfoy, you are sentenced to one year in Azkaban Prison for your crimes. Crimes against wizard kind and Muggles both in support of He Who Must Not Be Named over the last two years." The judge sitting on the dias stared at the silver haired young man before him and continued,  
"Leniency has been requested, though I don't understand why when you were responsible for the death of Albus Dumbledore, Headmaster of Hogwarts and the ensuing battle therein, but nevertheless, one year is reduced to six months. Sentence to be carried out immediately. Do you have anything to say before this court?"

"Yes sir," Draco replied. "I did what I had to do to survive. I'm sorry."

"Yes," the judge said, keeping the disgust out of his voice as best he could. "May you lead a better life in the future. Dismissed."

Two Aurors put him in a body binding curse and led him away, tossed powder in the fireplace and waited a few moments before pushing Draco in.  
He kept his eyes wide open to burn the images of the few other fireplaces he passed as he spun, the curse breaking just in time for him to fall to the floor.  
Cold fear gripped him. He was there.

Guards picked him up a lead him off, stuffing him in a lone and lonely cell. One looked on him with pity in his expression, the other appeared to be bored by it all. The first said, "The Dementors will pay a visit soon. Try to keep your head on straight if you want to live through this. Keep your family in mind. It helps."

They left and Draco took a look around his cell; a bench with thin padding, a sink and toilet, dark walls with a few bits of graffiti obviously made by someone barely in control of their hand it was so crooked.

"I am Draco Malfoy. I will survive. I will not let fear take me." The words sounded dull and hollow in the small cell but it was what he vowed to himself, what he promised himself to say every day for as long as it took.  
He'd come through this somehow and put his life back together. He'd show them all what a being a Malfoy really meant.

When the door rattled on its hinges, his eyes glared at the door in defiance. "You'll not have me," he said to the ragged, dark shape that wafted in. "I am Draco Mal..."

His words died with the breath that left his lungs, the heat of his body seeming to dissipate, his mind trying to hold on as the room shrank to almost nothing. A vision came, his arm burned from the marking, those horrid eyes looking into his bringing a scream out of his throat before he could stop it. Madness was there and infesting him, infecting him, turning his heart to stone to become like Voldemort, his new Master. Then fear came as he tried to explain why he hadn't fixed the cabinet, watching his father's eyes go harsh and uncaring, sneering at him in disgust. Working the cabinet again and again with those slitted eyes boring into his exposed back, seeing him flick his wand and smile as a man writhed and screamed before him. He was next. He was only being brought to see his fate and it was inescapable.  
He was next. Draco screamed in terror.

He was next. He was going to be next. The man writhed and screamed and he was going to be next. Eyes looked up at him from the floor begging him to end it then closed as he screamed and screamed and flailed about.  
And Draco was next. He had to make the cabinet work but it wouldn't and he was next, he was next, he was next ...

Not able to kill, knowing he was going to be held up as an example to the other Deatheaters for the failure he was. He was going under the evil wand,  
he'd be writhing on the floor screaming himself into utter madness. He tried to harden himself to what he had to do but Dumbledore's eyes looked at him with so much sympathy he just couldn't do it and he was going to be under the Dark Lord's wand. He saw himself being pushed by jeering, cackling minions toward where the Dark Lord waited to pleasure himself with Draco's pain. The door was opening and those slitted eyes were there, the wand was raised.

Draco screamed and fell to the floor. He thought he screamed himself hoarse, though no sound escaped his cracked lips, and he went on screaming inside until his brain itself was screaming. He tried to get up but it just wasn't worth the effort, better just to lie there and die. He heard a dull sound as the cell door closed, then a sharper sound as the guard looked in on him some time later. Another snick and the spyhole closed, leaving Draco in darkness with the memory of all his failures to haunt him. And he knew all of those memories were going to be used against him again and his heart thumped dully in his chest. All his failures, he was a failure in life, couldn't do anything right. His father had paid the price for all his failures, he was responsible for all the pain his father felt, the humiliation, the loss of pride, a broken man and it was Draco's fault.

Fear upon fear, misery upon misery, failure after failure after failure.  
He saw things he couldn't see, things no one saw. He was going mad and there nothing he could do but let it take him. Fear, pain, madness. His life now and forever.

His door rattled and Draco shrank in fear as a guard pushed food in and closed the door. Wan light barely showed the bread and small bit of soup in the bowl but he ate it with trembling hands. He watched the door,  
wondering when it would open again, hoping they'd just forget he existed,  
stop feeding him so he could just die and get it over with.

Cold gripped his heart and he shivered as it seemed to cover him from head to toe, the door rattled and opened, ragged cloth flicking as the Dementor approached. Darkness within the cowled hood, nothing but darkness and Draco tried to scream but even that was denied him now. He couldn't breathe, his lungs didn't work, he was going to drown as the cold water slipped around him and pushed on his chest. Father was watching and smiling at him as he slipped further and further under the water, his chest hurting and his limbs flailing but he only sank deeper and deeper in the lake.  
Forever sinking, forever trying to breathe, forever knowing he was helpless and dying, forever his father gave him that look of disapproval while making sure anyone seeing his face saw a smile. Draco wasn't even worth his own father showing disappointment.

Draco come to when his door rattled open, the guard pushing a bowl of thin soup and some bread in and closing the door. He wouldn't eat. He'd starve himself, he'd die and the grief and terror would go away. The guards didn't care if he lived or died, his father didn't care if he lived or died, his mother didn't care, no one cared. He was alone in the dark with fear and horrors surrounding him. The feeling of eating was pond scum slime running down his throat and he tried to curse his own weakness for consuming the food and prolonging his agony but couldn't even do that.

Cold surrounded him, the door creaked and the darkness within the ragged, cowled cloth took him. A man looked up at him from the floor,  
begging to die to end the pain. 'Give him another taste of our displeasure Draco,' he heard and he was in pain, writhing on the floor looking up at himself to beg for the death he wanted. Pain upon pain, his bones cracking,  
peeling skin on fire, muscles shrieking, even his hair was an agony on his head. He watched his own wand slash through the air and he screamed and screamed and screamed.

A bowl of soup and some bread tastelessly went in him. Cold came and the door rattled open to show darkness and Draco tried to scream but his lungs failed once again. His friends sneered at him, threw insults at him.  
They were all true. He was a failure, nothing he did ever worked. His father sneered and turned his back, muttering, 'No son of mine,' as he slinked away looking around to ensure he wasn't seen speaking to him. Alone, all alone in darkness forever and ever, cold and filthy, odors of everything fetid overpowered him. He was alone, no one came for him, all alone and helpless. His heart stuttered in his chest as slitted eyes gazed disdainfully down in utter contempt. He wasn't even worth an angry curse, then the wand was raised.

Draco found himself sitting on the bed with the blanket over his head and body, trying to cry, to sob, but even that small comfort was denied him.  
Cold and a rattle and he was staring at Nagini slithering toward him, looking hungry and wanting. His voiced cracked as he screamed but it didn't help.  
He was inside and being squeezed, air hissing out of his closed mouth that failed to keep life-giving air in his burning lungs. He was being ground to hamburger inside, his flesh lighting up in white hot fire as he was slowly digested. Alive.

Cold, the door, helpless and friendless, abandoned by all, alone with no hope. Darkness sucked him in only to reveal horror upon horror awaiting him, clawed fingers reaching, raking his skin, darkness and death all around but held at bay just to keep him in the agony of waiting to die under torture,  
the tortures he'd inflicted on others now inflicted on him. Airlessly screaming in his own mind, huddled under the blanket that only brought wet coldness to his body and failing heart he tried to will himself to die. Like everything else about him, he failed.

Cold, the door, screams in his head, agony of drowning, of being digested inside the snake, a wand raised and he tried to scream out at the pain but couldn't. Alone, forever alone, he'd never see another soul,  
condemned to suffer for the Dark Lord's amusement as the hissing voice pointed out interesting facets of the pain inflicted on his body, the pain he himself inflicted on yet another helpless man writhing on the floor.

Cold, pain, airless screams, nightmares, abandonment, horror, hurt upon hurt. Day upon day upon day phased into an endless agony of fear and monstrous sorrow. He knew he was going to be here forever now. He was lost, forgotten, cold. The door rattled and he shrank into the corner in abject terror.

The door opened and a guard stood in the light. "No more, please, no more. Kill me, have mercy, kill me," Draco croaked out soundlessly.

"You have a visitor, Malfoy."

That sound. Something about that sound. It was supposed to mean something but he just couldn't make it out.

"I said you have a visitor, now get up Malfoy," the voice said.

It meant something, something, something important. Mal. Foy. He said it like it meant something to him, to both of them. Another figure partially blocked the light in the door.

"Don't you let them bathe?" a voice asked.

"Every other day, but after a while it doesn't do any good." The voice wasn't cruel, it was just telling the facts and he thought it meant something to him like he was being talked about. He was being talked about, yes, that was it. They meant him. They were talking about him.

"Draco," the strange voice said, "your time is up. I told your mother I'd see to you. Can you walk?"

Draco looked up. "Ah ... aht ... aht ..." came from him. Dark hair,  
round glasses. He blinked but the glasses were still there. Not another hallucination.

"Yes. I brought clothes and some food. Can you walk?" the man asked him.

"I." His voice sounded strange, harsh as he learned to talk again. He was supposed to do something, he knew he was missing the point of all this.

A hand touched him and he recoiled. Looking up he saw a small smile.  
It reassured him. Like his mother's smile. "Muhh..."

"I'll help you up," he said and the fingers touched him again. They didn't hurt, he wasn't hurting. Someone was touching him and it didn't hurt.  
In fact, in a way it felt good. The hand was warm. It wasn't a claw of bone and rancid skin. It felt warm on his arm and he let it lift him. He struggled and got his legs under him, wobbling unsteadily as he stood with the hand that held on sending its warmth through him.

"Dra ...co," he croaked. "My ... name ... is ... Dra ... co." Rheumy,  
sunken eyes stared up, the once handsome face now gaunt and wan, the hair merely a tangled, dirty frazzle around his head. Draco wobbled and reached out.

"Please, help me," he said and felt arms holding him, a shoulder boosting him up to hold his body upright.

The two men gazed at one another. Draco tried to close his hand to show he felt him, that he wanted to touch him.

His voice cracked again. "Tha ... thank you," he got out. "You saved ...  
my life ... in the ... room. I nev ...never ... thanked you."

"You're welcome," Harry said. "You saved me, in your Manor when we were prisoners. I should be thanking you, Draco. Your mother too."

"Thank you," and their eyes met in an intense gaze, "Harry."

Harry heard his name and the smallest bit of a tear watered his eye.  
Not Potter, not Saint Potter, just Harry. He gazed back and nodded.

"Let's get you some hot food and a bath," Harry said. "I made a promise to your mother that I'd take care of you and see you home. I'm not going to bring you home smelling like you do nor hungry and looking like you haven't eaten in years. This way."

Draco stumbled along, looking up at Harry several times as they walked. Then he was sitting down with a bowl of hot soup, tasty soup full of meat and vegetables. It was the most wonderful feeling ever in his life to have hot, tasty soup passing into his body. After a bath and clean, warm clothes that hung loose on his thin body, he came back out to the room to sit at the table, sip at hot tea and snack on a biscuit. After the soup he didn't think anything could ever be better than that feeling, but to sit and ... snack ... on a biscuit was the ultimate luxury.

He looked at Harry and asked, "My Father? Is he, is his time up?"

Harry frowned with the knowledge inside him. "Not yet. Another couple months. He fought his trial so when it was finally held and he, well, anyway,  
he gets out in eight weeks."

"Can I see him?" Draco asked, pleading with every fiber of his body.

"I asked," Harry said, "and they won't budge on it. I tried, I really tried but there's rules that cannot be bent. There was an escape several years ago from a visit so ... I really did try but was turned down flat. Sorry."

The news hurt but didn't surprise Draco. He thought of his father and the misery, closed that part of his mind and got back to the real world. He held out his hand.

"Thank you," Draco said. "If you said you tried I'm sure you tried with everything you could. Thanks for trying and thanks for being here."

Harry stared at the thin hand a moment then took it in his own. "He's alright, as much as any prisoner, they told me that much. It won't be long and he'll be out."

Draco held Harry's hand then put his other on top to clasp them together. "I'm sorry for everything. I owe ... I caused so much pain. I want to pay, I'll pay anything to anyone I hurt."

Harry saw remorse in Draco, not just the jail remorse he'd been warned about, Draco's eyes showed much more than just sorrow, they were filled with a promise.

"Our world is still in tatters," Harry said. "Old hates and revenges keep cropping up. More than anything we need to rebuild. Find some way to help and that'll pay back anything you feel you should."

Draco gripped his hands together tightly around Harry's. "I promise you, Harry, I'll do everything I can," he said.

Harry felt nothing but sincerity, heard nothing but honesty in the voice.  
"I'll have to be up front and say there's a lot of people that won't accept you.  
They won't accept anything associated with former Deatheaters. There won't be any rewards."

Draco dropped his handclasp. "Harry, I said I promise to help. I don't expect, I can't expect gratitude from helping a victim, someone I hurt,  
someone I made a victim in the first place. Will you stop by and visit me at Malfoy Manor in a few weeks? I need you to tell me how I can help put things right again. I need your help, Harry. Please."

Harry nodded his head and gave Draco a strange look, like the gaunt figure in front of him was a total stranger. "I'll ... I'll do that. Now, I told your mother I'd see you home. You ready to go?"

They walked toward the secured floo and a guard made a notation on his parchment. "Good luck, Malfoy," the guard said and flicked his wand.

Draco turned to Harry and held the hand full of floo powder. "When you come, could you bring Granger with you? I owe her my apologies also."

"We have to make a stop at the Ministry to clear you. Hermione works there part time. You might just get the chance," Harry said.

He sprinkled some powder in the hearth and green fire glowed. "You have your whole life in front of you Draco. Make it a life worthy of mention in Professor Binn's class." He held Draco's arm steady and walked both of them in.

"The Ministry of Magic." A flick of his hand and they both disappeared in the flash of green myst-fire.

END

Head cannon goes off again. "Please Review" is on the sign fluttering to the ground.  



End file.
